


Book Club

by jankykang



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, T rating for swearing and drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jankykang/pseuds/jankykang
Summary: Abigail makes a new friend at the library.





	Book Club

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I got the urge to write after seeing my two favourite NPCs in the library at the same time and started thinking about what they might have in common. It's kinda weird and kinda silly but I had fun writing it :^)

Abigail dragged her finger down the cracked spine of a dark book with gold lettering. The font was so intricate and loopy that she had to tilt her head and squint to make out the title. _Knights of Galdius: Tales of Bravery and Deceit_. Sounded kinda fun. She pulled the book off the shelf and flipped through a couple pages before promptly putting it back. The font was far too small and she was not in the right state of mind for that. After pushing the book all the way back to be pressed against the back of the shelf, Abigail stepped back and made a beeline for the library’s meager graphic novel section.

She had already read most of the options available, but she still checked every time she came to the library in case Gunther had gotten anything new. She scanned the shelves until her eyes landed on something she didn’t recognize. She pulled out a skinny book, covered in a blue and purple spirally design surrounding the title: _Digitallica, Volume 2_. Volume one was nowhere to be seen, but the art looked cool. Volume two would have to do.

Abigail made her way through the tall shelves to the open area at the front of the library where she could sit comfortably and read this new find. Thankfully, Penny wasn’t there tutoring the kids. Abigail smiled as she remembered how excited Vincent had gotten the first time he saw her there, asking what she was doing and telling her all about the funny thing Sam had said that morning. Abigail loved him, he was adorable, but it took Penny a long time to get him to focus back on his lesson after that. So, after picking out a book that day, she had read it sitting on the floor between the shelves, out of sight so as to not distract Vincent any further. She hadn’t really minded, but a chair was definitely preferable.

She was reading the back-cover summary when she pulled a chair out at a corner desk. She hadn’t even realized Elliott was in the room until she finished the summary and looked up.

It made sense that Elliott was there, he was a writer. Writers read. But Abigail was still startled, just as anyone would be upon noticing that they weren’t alone when they had assumed they were. Instinctively, she lowered her book to her lap under the table to hide it from his view.

He was standing across the room, leaning against a shelf and frowning into a book that Abigail couldn’t really see. She had never really spoken to Elliott, past the typical pleasantries at festivals or brief exchanges when he came into her dad’s store while she was working. He seemed like a perfectly nice person, the kind of nice person who wouldn’t judge her for reading weird robot comics.

At the same time, however, Elliott was bound to have refined, sophisticated taste in literature. He had written a whole novel, for Yoba’s sake, and a good one at that—Abigail had read it. There wasn’t a single robot in the whole thing. Elliott wasn’t that much older than her—he was much closer to her age than her parents’, but he still had this air about him that broadcasted maturity. That stereotypical kind of maturity that involved fancy breads and wines, despite that image being at odds with his modest beach cabin. Not that she even really knew him, of course. She was just reasonably confident that he wasn’t the type to balk at a book for the font being too small.

Elliott’s head lifted from his book and turned in her direction, and Abigail realized with a couple surprised blinks that she had zoned out staring directly at him. His frown relaxed after a moment and he offered her a small, polite smile. Abigail was briefly terrified that he was going to come talk to her and she would have to show him the book she was hiding behind the table but fortunately, after she acknowledged his smile with a jerky nod, he simply flipped the page in his book and resumed his reading. Abigail followed suit and cracked open _Digitallica_.

She had some trouble following the plot, and only partly because she was reading a sequel without any context. A fraction of her focus was kept on Elliott. Why was he still standing? There were plenty of empty seats. What, was he too good to sit? He wasn’t even pacing or anything, just standing there, a statue of a man reading a book that occasionally came to life to turn a page.

Abigail liked coming to the library. It was a nice, quiet place where she could hide from the world for a few hours. She needed the time to recharge by herself sometimes, and this was her best option. It was even better than it had been for a while, ever since the farmer had started donating the cool stuff she dug up in the mines and the museum section of the building was stocked better than Abigail had ever remembered it being.

Getting anxious over some stranger sharing a public space with her was completely defeating the purpose of Abigail even being there.

With a quiet sigh and an embarrassing sense of defeat, Abigail closed _Digitallica_ and put it on the book cart. She walked past Elliott without looking at him, grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, and waved goodbye to Gunther before trudging home through the snow.

 

 

“What did you get up to today, honey?” Abigail’s mother asked her at dinner that night.

“Went to the library,” she answered right before stuffing too much chicken into her mouth.

“Whadja do there?” Her dad asked.

Abigail kept her parents in suspense as she chewed at a leisurely pace. “Read. On account of, you know, the books.”

“Anything good?”

“Not really. I picked up this graphic novel about a… robot circus, I think? It looked cool but I didn’t really get into it.”

Pierre hummed, taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe a ghost circus would be more to your liking,” Caroline said without looking up from her plate, in a tone that implied an eye roll even if there wasn’t a physical one. A familiar wave of irritation hit Abigail.

“Probably,” she responded. She knew from experience that asking her mother not to belittle her interests never got her anywhere. It was easiest to just not give her anything to work with.

 

 

Two nights later, Abigail was at the saloon with Sam and Sebastian, the same as every Friday night since they were old enough to go to the saloon. She had finally given in and was giving Sam pool tips because she had started to get bummed out watching him lose so horribly to Sebastian every week.

“Don’t worry about your fancy spin techniques or whatever,” she told him. “Just focus on hitting it in a straight line. You’ve got a clear shot there to the side pocket.”

“Okay, yeah, but hear me out. What if I hit it over to that one,” Sam pointed to a ball at the far corner of the table, “and get that one in, then it’ll bounce back over to the side here and hit that one in. I think it’s worth a shot.”

“How about this.” Abigail clapped a hand on her overzealous friend’s shoulder. “If you sink that red one into the side pocket I’ll buy the next round. _And_ I’ll keep giving you free advice and maybe you can beat this fool for once.” She pointed at Sebastian, who was chalking his cue with an amused smirk that betrayed his feigned disinterest.

Sam turned to look at Abigail. “Two rounds.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Alright,” Sam laughed. “One easy, straight-line baby shot coming right up.”

Sam bent down to line up his shot, a process which took about half a second. He thrusted his cue forward and it glanced off the side of the cue ball, knocking it a bit to the side, but mostly just making it spin in place.

“Motherf—That doesn’t count!” Sam declared.

“Never does, buddy,” Sebastian said.

“Okay. Here we go. For real this time. Get your money ready, Abs.” Sam, having learned his lesson from his last attempt, took a whole three seconds to line himself up this time. They were three seconds well-spent, apparently, as the red ball was knocked straight into the side pocket.

Sam beamed and raised his fists victoriously above his head, the cue coming dangerously close to bashing the hanging light above them. He was still behind Sebastian by four balls, but Abigail clapped for him anyway.

“Proud of you. Don’t screw it up while I’m gone.”

“You got it, boss.”

Abigail heard the first few words of debatably unearned trash talk from Sam before her friends’ voices faded out as she approached the bar. The saloon was as busy as it typically was on a Friday night, about half the town bringing the place to life. Abigail perked up a bit when she saw the farmer sitting at the bar. She was obscuring whoever she was clinking her glass with next to her, but it only took Abigail a few more steps to see that it was Elliott.

She suddenly felt very awkward. She hadn’t really spared him any thought since leaving the library the other day, but that encounter, if it could even be called an encounter, was the reason she faltered for half a second before taking the last few steps to the bar. She knew she didn’t have any real reason to feel awkward, but she couldn’t shake her embarrassment at her own inability to make use of the library at the same time as him.

“I’ll be there in just a second,” Emily called to her from down the bar, prompting the farmer to look over her shoulder and notice Abigail.

“Oh, hey Abigail! It’s good to see you,” the farmer said.

“Yeah, you too,” Abigail said with a smile. Despite her discomfort, the farmer had this way about her that always made Abigail feel at ease. She was so kind, always running around town lending a hand to anyone who asked for one.

“Friday night tradition?”

“Yeah. Sam and Seb are back there.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the game room. “I’m trying to help Sam get better at pool. Haven’t quite deemed him a lost cause yet.”

“How charitable of you,” the farmer laughed. Abigail grinned, and realized that Elliott was still sitting there, unacknowledged but still smiling politely. They made eye contact, and Abigail briefly wondered whether it was too late to say hi to him or if that would be weird. It was probably weirder to just look at him without saying anything. She was about to commit, about to open her mouth to spew out some kind of greeting, but then Emily was there, asking what she could get for her, and it was definitely too late to say hi after that.

Abigail left the bar, two mugs of beer in one hand and a cider in the other, after wishing the two of them a good night. Well, she mostly wished the farmer a good night, but the sentiment was meant to be aimed at both of them.

When Abigail returned to the game room, she was disappointed to hear that Sam had indeed screwed it up while she was gone. They thanked her for the drinks, and Sam flopped onto the couch, announcing that he had had enough pool for one night.

They spent the next little while just talking—Sebastian told them about a nightmare client he was working with, Sam went off about a dream that had given him inspiration for a new song, and Abigail figured she might as well bring up the most notable event of her week.

“Hey, do you guys know Elliott?”

“No Abs, I must’ve missed him in this bustling metropolis,” Sebastian said.

“Shut up. I mean, like, have you ever talked to him? Beyond commenting on the weather?”

Sam and Sebastian both shrugged.

“Not really,” Sam said. “He sometimes says hi if he’s there when I take Vincent to the beach. Why?”

“I saw him at the library the other day, and again just now at the bar. He’s like… I don’t know, he’s kinda intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” Sebastian’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Dude, he wears corduroy. I’ve heard him say ‘splendid’ before.”

“Yeah, but like, he’s smart, right? He’s a published author.”

“Pretty tall, too,” Sam added thoughtfully.

“Hm… Smart, tall…” Sebastian thought for a moment, or at least pretended to think. “You got a crush on him or something?”

“No! Ew! I just—”

“Yeah, dummy. She’s got a crush on the far—”

“Shut _up_!” Abigail took in the two shit-eating grins in front of her and sighed heavily. “I just thought it was weird that I saw him twice this week, since I never see him normally. Whatever. Forget it. Enjoy your free drinks, assholes.”

Sam laughed and threw a companionable arm across her shoulders. “Yeah, thanks again for that. Can I come over tomorrow and try to get further on _Prairie King_?”

“…Yeah, sure.”

 

 

The next time Abigail went to the library, she spent the whole walk over fortifying herself. She wasn’t going to be phased by anyone who happened to be there, and she would read whatever nerdy book she wanted. If any witnesses thought she was weird, that was their problem.

She wasn’t proud to admit that, when she opened the door to see Elliott leaning against a shelf with that same focused look on his face as the last time she saw him there, she was very strongly inclined to browse only for innocuous covers and boring-sounding titles. Gunther greeted her with a tip of his signature blue cowboy hat, Elliott looked up at the sound of the door swinging shut, and Abigail forced herself to not throw her self-directed pep talks immediately out the window.

She compromised. She chose a book with a tacky ghoulish cover, but sat in the aisle to read it, like the time she had hid away to make Penny’s job easier. She got through about a quarter of it before her stomach grumbled and she decided she wasn’t all that invested in the story.

She hadn’t heard him leave, but Elliott was gone when she made her way out.

 

 

A week later, the biggest snowstorm of the season hit. Biggest, of course, being a relative term, since the valley’s biggest snowstorms weren’t really all that big. Abigail assured her concerned mother that the walk to the library was short. No, she wouldn’t get frostbite. No, there wasn’t so much snow that she would get turned around and fall into the river. Yes, she would be careful. Fine, she would put a scarf on.

Forty-five seconds after stepping out the front door, Abigail regretted not wearing two scarves. The snow itself wasn’t so hard to manage, but it was the wind that she had underestimated. It thrashed at her face relentlessly until she was convinced that the exposed skin around her eyes was about to start flaking off.

As she reached the south end of town and turned to cross the bridge to the library, Abigail lifted her head from where it was tucked down to shield herself from the elements, and she saw a figure twenty or so feet ahead of her, heading in the same direction.  They were bundled up and she couldn’t see their face, but Abigail knew from the height and telltale red coat who it was.

Abigail watched Elliott disappear into the library, and she was close enough behind that he was still hanging his coat up when she stepped inside. He turned to see who had come in, and though half of his face was still covered by a thick scarf, his eyebrows lifted slightly when they made eye contact. Abigail stomped on the doormat and brushed at her sleeves to rid herself of as much excess snow as possible.

“Uh. Hey,” she said.

Elliott looked a little surprised at her greeting, but when he removed his scarf she saw a smile that was a a little warmer than the polite one she had been given a few times over the past couple weeks.

“Good morning.” Elliott folded his scarf methodically and tucked it into the sleeve of his hanging coat. His hair, tied back at the base off his skull, was neat and dry even after walking through the storm. Abigail could practically sense how messy her own was. “We seem to be running into each other here quite a bit lately.”

Abigail wouldn’t have called it “running into each other,” since they never actually interacted, but she wasn’t really one to get caught up in semantics.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said as she stuffed her mittens into her coat pockets, much less ceremoniously than Elliott with his scarf. Then, worried she sounded rude, quickly added: “I like coming here. Nice and quiet.”

Elliott hummed his agreement. “And considerably warmer than my cabin in the winter.”

Damn. Abigail had, on multiple occasions, wondered about the level of comfort associated with Elliott’s housing situation. She thought about the sand, the fishy ocean smell, and the noise of summer beach parties. Even simply the physical size and state of Elliott’s shack was a far cry from luxurious. Heating in the winter, however, wasn’t something she had ever considered. Abigail suddenly felt a little bad for him, despite the smile that had not yet faded from his face.

He seemed to be, for whatever reason, waiting for her as she hung her coat on the hook next to his. She pulled her lips back in an awkward smile and nodded, unsure of what to say, unsure if she should say anything at all. They walked side-by-side out of the library’s entrance and towards the rows of bookshelves.

“So,” Elliott started lightly. “What do you like to read?”

“Oh. I read a lot of fantasy. And horror. Mostly.”

“Ah! Those are two genres in which I’m unfortunately not very well versed.”

Abigail laughed, a bit nervous. “Yeah, you, uh… You don’t really seem like you would be.”

“No?” There was laughter in his voice, soothing Abigail’s worry that she might have offended him with that comment. “Do you have any recommendations, then? It’s always good to expand one’s horizons.”

They stopped walking when they reached the sitting area. Abigail blinked at Elliott’s question. If he was just showing interest to be polite, then he did a good job of acting earnest.

“Hm.” She thought for a moment. “ _Grolbar_ is kind of a modern classic.” A safe choice.

“Grolbar…” Elliott repeated the name slowly like he was trying to figure out how it fit in his mouth. “Is it here?”

“Yeah, unless it’s gone missing or something. It’s about, um…” Abigail hesitated, but Elliott’s attention was completely on her so she couldn’t just stop in the middle of a sentence. “It’s about this… gremlinesque creature—her name is Grolbar—and she’s kind of like, this magical vigilante.”

“That sounds—”

“I know it probably sounds weird, but it has a surprising amount of emotional depth, and it’s pretty critically acclaimed, so, uh… yeah.” Abigail immediately felt silly in the silence that followed, but, once again, Elliott smiled at her.

“I was going to say that it sounds like a nice change of pace for me.”

“Oh. Cool. Sorry. I can go find it for you, if you want.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Abigail nodded and headed for the fantasy section. She scanned the shelves, considering that maybe the vibes she got from Elliott that she had previously assumed to be pretentiousness were simply an easy confidence, or even just life experience. Maybe she had simply been judging his aesthetic choices. Either way, Abigail felt… relieved. Respected, in a way. Elliott actively seeking out her recommendation went beyond polite interest—he seemed to believe in her knowledge of the genre.

Of course, that didn’t negate her fear that he would find _Grolbar_ completely absurd once he started reading it.

She pulled the book off the shelf once she found it, and absently flipped through the pages with her thumb on her way back to where Elliott was waiting. He was sitting, lightly tapping his fingers on the desk.

“Here,” she said, presenting it to him.

Elliott took it from her and examined the covers—front and back.

“Thank you,” he said. “I look forward to diving into this.”

Abigail didn’t know if it would be weird for her to walk away, or if she should say something.

“I read your book,” is what she ended up blurting out, loud against the silence of the library.

Elliott’s eyes widened in surprise, but his expression relaxed quickly into yet another smile.

“That makes me happy to hear. May I ask what you thought of it?”

“It was really good. I’m—I mean, I’m usually not really into mysteries, but I liked it a lot. The character development was really well done and you did a great job of building suspense. Plus, the ending? Did _not_ see that coming, with the estranged son. But like, it was a totally earned twist, you know? I went back and realized that you, um, foreshadowed… that…” Abigail’s voice petered out when she realized how fast she was talking, and how Elliott was probably looking down because she was embarrassing him. “I liked it,” she concluded weakly.

Elliott looked back up to her. “Thank you, Abigail. That truly means a lot to me.”

Abigail didn’t know why her opinion would matter to him, it wasn’t like they were friends or anything, but she returned his smile anyway and sat at the desk next to him.

“So, are you gonna write a second one?”

Elliott leaned back in his chair. “I’d like to, eventually. Something different from the first. To be perfectly honest, I only delved into the mystery genre because the farmer told me that it was her favourite. I was desperate for inspiration then, but this time I think I want to come upon something more naturally, if that’s possible.”

Abigail didn’t know that the farmer liked mysteries. “You two are pretty close, huh?” She tried to sound casual.

“She’s a very dear friend, indeed.”

“Cool, cool.”

“Though, I don’t believe there’s anyone in town who isn’t her friend, by now.”

“That’s a good point.” Abigail tapped her hands on her knees. “Well, I’ll stop bothering you now, so you can actually read that.” She punctuated her statement with an uncertain laugh.

“Oh, you’re not bothering me at all! I’m happy to chat, and I’m truly thankful that you took an interest in my work.”

“Yeah, of course. Um, I’ll see you around, I guess?”

“Yes, if you continue to spend time in here.”

“Cool, yeah. Okay.” On that conclusive note, Abigail rose from her seat and returned to the shelves to find something for herself. She settled on a collection of ghost stories that she had read half of on a previous day, and brought it to a table a couple over from Elliott’s, angling herself away from him so that she wouldn’t try to analyze his reactions to _Grolbar_.

The ghost stories weren’t scary, but they were mostly well-written. Followed a proven structure without being predictable. She offered a small wave to Elliott when she left, and he returned it.

 

 

Abigail sat on her bed, staring at her laptop. Her essay was due in ten hours, and it was so close to being done. If it weren’t for the obnoxiously loud music coming from the living room, she thought bitterly, it could have been finished already. Yoba be damned if her mother missed out on turning their house into a free gym for a week.

Abigail’s eyes fell out of focus while the mantra of “just a conclusion, just a conclusion” played somewhere in a corner of her mind. The conclusion was the easiest part. She had already done all the work, she just needed to wrap it up. She wanted a good mark on this though, and she wasn’t going to let herself lose points because of a sloppy concluding paragraph.

A sudden cheer of “nice form, Jodi!” snapped Abigail back to attention and pushed her into accepting defeat. She closed both her laptop and notebook and shoved them into her backpack before stepping out of her room.

The women in the living room all said hi to her when she stepped out of her room, and Abigail happily returned the greeting. She knew they all enjoyed the weekly tradition, and it made her happy that they were taking care of themselves, but she just couldn’t deal with the noise sometimes.

Her father called out a distracted “see ya later” as he fiddled with something on the cash register. The thing was ancient—Abigail had told him countless times to just buy a new one, but Pierre had always been an advocate for frugality and he insisted that it still worked three quarters of the time.

It was a mild day, the sun having melted a noticeable amount of snow, which was good for the plans she had for later. The familiar walk to the library went by quickly and, lo and behold, there was Elliott. By then, Abigail would have been more phased if he weren’t there.

She plopped down at a desk and pulled out her notes and laptop. Here, where the only sounds were the consistent hum of the heater and intermittent page-turning, it only took about fifteen minutes for Abigail to crank out a decent conclusion. She read over it a couple times, then leaned back in her chair, tipped her head as far back as it would go, shook her arms out, and exhaled every essay-related thought that she had been harbouring for the past week.

A light huff of laughter reminded her that she wasn’t alone, and she turned in her chair to find Elliott looking at her.

“I know that feeling.” He picked up a thin white ribbon from his table and used it to mark his place in the book he held in front of him. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, it’s just an essay for this class I’m taking online. Actually…” Abigail considered her next words carefully. “Would you maybe… Would you mind proofreading it? If you’re not busy, I mean.”

“Oh!” Elliott’s face lit up. “I’m not busy at all. Though, I don’t know that I’ll have anything valuable to offer with regard to the content.”

“That’s okay. I usually lose the most marks for grammar and stuff, anyway.”

“Then I’d be happy to proofread it for you.” Elliott rose from his chair and Abigail lifted her laptop to hand it to him.

“Thanks. Sorry to bother you, I guess I just trust your judgement when it comes to writing.”

“I assure you, it’s no bother at all.” Once again, if he was just being polite, then he did a very good job of sounding sincere.

Elliott carried the laptop back to where he had been sitting and Abigail doodled in her notebook while she waited for him to get through her essay, definitely not feeling nervous every time she heard him type something.

“Alright,” he announced suddenly, and Abigail sat up straight. She heard his chair scrape against the wood floor and he brought her laptop back to her. “Everything is structured and organized nicely, and your points are all very clear. I corrected some minor grammatical errors and highlighted a couple run-on sentences, but other than that I think you’ve done a great job.”

Abigail was about to thank him, but when she looked up she saw that he was frowning at something. She followed his gaze to her notebook and her shoulders tensed as a fresh wave of embarrassment hit her.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” he said. He was smiling now.

“Ar—Oh, no, I’m not, really. I just, um. I just draw sometimes, when I’m bored. That’s just a doodle.”

Elliott bent down slightly to get a better look.

“Is that a tiger? That’s incredible, you must practice a lot.” He sounded like he was just thinking out loud.

“Y—Yeah, I guess. Actually, hang on.” Abigail usually didn’t like sharing her art with other people, but there was something in Elliott’s voice that gave her a sudden surge in confidence. She clicked through a few folders on her computer until she found the scan of the drawing she had done the previous year. The one she had spent hours upon hours perfecting, the one she was very proud of but hadn’t shown anybody out of fear that that pride could easily be shattered.

Abigail chewed the inside of her cheek as Elliott took in the art she had pulled up. It was a muscular orc brandishing a battle axe above their head, mid-swing. She remembered how much time she had put into that drawing, how she had agonized over colouring it and how good it had felt to have finally finished it and been happy with the result. After what felt like an overly-long pause, Elliott finally spoke.

“Abigail, this is amazing! This is—You did this?”

“Yeah, I, uh. I did this.”

“Wow.” Elliott’s mouth hung open as he analyzed the image. “I had no idea you had this kind of skill! You should talk to Leah sometime!”

“W—What? Leah?”

“Yes! She would be thrilled to have the company of another artist.”

“Aren’t you an artist?”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but it’s not the same!” Elliott straightened his back and brought a hand to his head. “My goodness, the detail…”

Abigail was overjoyed. She had never dreamed that something she made would ever receive this kind of reaction, let alone that it would come from someone like Elliott. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

“You just reminded me! I finished _Grolbar_ the other night, and you were absolutely right—it was a fantastic read. Some refreshing takes on classic themes, very thought-provoking.”

The joy turned overwhelming. Abigail’s phone vibrated on the table and lit up with a message from Sebastian. She inhaled sharply through her mouth, and before she could think, the words tumbled out of their own accord.

“Hey, do you want to smoke weed with me and my friends tonight?”

Elliott’s face contorted immediately into a look of pure shock and a weird choked sound came from his open mouth. Abigail regretted her whole life when he started stammering.

“I—I don’t—That’s—Surely you don’t want an old man like me i—imposing on your time with your friends.”

Abigail frowned. “You’re not that old. And it’s not imposing if I invited you.”

Elliott blinked. He looked like all his mental energy was being used up trying to figure out how to tactfully decline.

“It’s fine,” Abigail attempted to give him an out, caving to her embarrassment. “You don’t have to, I know you’re not really that kind of person, I just thought it might be fun to hang out more. Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation.”

“N—No, no, it’s alright. You just… You really caught me off-guard there.” He laughed, the sound a little too loud to be entirely natural. Abigail’s phone vibrated again. “Goodness, I haven’t… partaken in that since I left the city.”

“…You got high in the city?”

Elliott laughed again, more easily this time. “Yes, well, it’s bound to happen when all your friends are artists.”

Abigail struggled to imagine Elliott passing a bong around in some dingy apartment. She wondered if he said things like “my goodness” all the time back then, too.

“Huh. So, uh… Do you think you’d want to come? It’s cool if you don’t.”

“I… Your friends won’t mind?”

Abigail shrugged. “They might be confused, but it’ll be fine.”

Elliott looked utterly conflicted. Abigail was about to reassure him for a third time that he could say no before he finally spoke.

“Alright, then. I’ll be there.”

“W—Really?”

“Er, yes? If that’s okay?”

“O—Okay! Good! Great! This’ll be great. This’ll be fun.” Abigail did her best to make it sound like she wasn’t trying to convince herself.

 

 

**Abdominals:** hey guys

**Abdominals:** funny thing

**Abdominals:** i invited elliott tonight

**sebAsstian:** ………????????

**Abdominals:** we’re like friends now or something

**sebAsstian:** abby. why.

**homer sampson:** is he secretly a big stoner!!!???

**Abdominals:** it was kind of an accident

**Abdominals:** but look he’s a really nice person ok

**Abdominals:** a bit eccentric maybe but a good guy

**Abdominals:** And We Are All Going To Have Fun.

**sabAsstian:** -_-

**homer sampson:** is he…… a narc

**Abdominals:** he’s not a fucking narc sam

**Abdominals:** i knew u guys would be weird about it

**sebAsstian:** yeah cuz its weird

**Abdominals:** it won’t be weird

**homer sampson:** it might be weird but I trust ur judgement abs

**Abodminals:** thank you

**Abdominals:**  you were always my favourite

**homer sampson:** ;;;DDDD

**sebAsstian:** ……………

**sebAsstian:** if its weird im going home

 

 

“You told him where to go, right?”

“Yes, Sam,” Abigail sighed. “I told him to be at the train platform at eleven.”

“Maybe he fell asleep,” Sebastian said. “Y’know, ‘cause he’s like, an old man.”

Abigail sighed harder.

“Or maybe…” Sam said, holding his hands out like he had some groundbreaking idea. “Maybe he’s at the mayor’s house. Being a narc.”

“Very possible.”

Abigail upgraded her sigh to a groan. They had only been there about ten minutes, but the cold always had a way making time pass slower. Abigail wondered how she always managed to underestimate how much colder it got when the sun went down.

“Just don’t be dicks when he gets here, okay?”

“Fine,” Sebastian said, pulling a joint and his lighter out from his coat. “I’m not gonna wait any longer though.”

It wasn’t long until they heard crunching footsteps approaching the platform, but it was enough time for Abigail to start feeling the effects. The stiffness in her neck, cultivated during the many hours spent hunched in front of her computer, had faded into the background and she was rolling her shoulders in slow circles to celebrate. She turned her head to locate the approaching guest of honour.

No one said anything as Elliott stepped into the space Abigail had moved to make for him. She thought he looked… nervous? Cautious? Just plain uncomfortable? She couldn’t really tell. He had a beanie on that she had never seen him wear before.

“Hey,” she said, breaking the silence.

“Good evening,” Elliott replied.

“Good evening,” Sam echoed in his best Dracula impression.

Sebastian snickered and repeated the greeting, mimicking the accent. The duo said “good evening” back and forth to each other a few more times, slightly altering the intonation each time.

Abigail caught Elliott’s widened eyes and found an expression that she _could_ read: he didn’t know if they were laughing at him or with him. Abigail didn’t really know either. She wanted to communicate to him that he could mock them back if he wanted, but she wasn’t sure if he was capable. Instead she just smiled and nudged his arm with her elbow and felt awkward about it immediately. He returned the smile though, which was a good sign.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said quietly, like he was afraid of interrupting the good evenings. “I left my cabin and had to turn back to get this.” He pointed to the hat.

“Yeah, good plan. Here.” Abigail plucked the joint from Sam’s fingers and offered it to Elliott. “Reward yourself for scaling a mountain.”

Elliott laughed, some of the uneasiness in his face disappearing. He thanked her, accepted the joint, and brought it to his lips in an appreciative, delicate way that didn’t surprise Abigail. He blew the smoke out in a thin stream and looked around.

“I don’t remember the last time I came up here,” he said, holding the joint out for someone to take, which Sebastian did.

“Why would you come up here? There’s just my house and the mines.”

“And the spa,” Sam added.

“He lives on the beach, he doesn’t need a spa.”

Sam was laughing. “Dude, the ocean is cold! It’s only nice in the summer!” Sebastian just shrugged.

Elliott, hands in his coat pockets, rocked slowly up on to his toes, and back down to his heels.

“Maybe I should come up sometime and ask your mother about upgrading my shack.”

Silence. Sebastian’s eyes flew wide open. Sam burst into loud, unrestrained laughter.

“Did you—Was that—” he struggled between breaths. “Did you just—Did you just make a ‘your mom’ joke?!”

Elliott abruptly ceased his rocking and his hands flew out of his pockets to wave desperately in front of himself.

“No! No, I wasn’t—That’s not—"

Abigail bit her lips together to keep from laughing, but she only managed to keep it together for a few seconds once Elliott started panicking. She quickly matched Sam’s delight, but not quite his volume.

Somewhere along the way, Sebastian got past his initial surprise and started laughing as well, the weed rounding out whatever edges had existed previously. Finally, Elliott noticed that everyone else was laughing and gave up on his sputtering apologies, opting instead to join in.

“What could ‘upgrade my shack’ possibly be a euphemism for!?”

“Nothing!” Sam howled. “It’s literally nothing! It’s just the way you said it!”

Sebastian threw an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Hey baby, wanna go _upgrade_ my _shack_?”

“No,” Sam replied, somehow still struggling to talk through his laughter. “It sounds like a lot of work.”

“It sounds nice,” Abigail said. “Like, my shack is upgraded whenever you’re in it.”

“Okay,” Elliott said. “I’ll accept that.”

Abigail was happy. It seemed as though the ice was broken, that Elliott had passed the initiation, or whatever. But then Sebastian kept talking.

“Don’t fuck my mom, man.”

Abigail knew that he was joking, that Sebastian didn’t actually suspect any mother-seducing intentions from the guy, but Elliott reverted immediately to the sputtering, apologetic version of himself from earlier.

“I—I’m not—That’s—”

“He’s joking,” Abigail assured him. “It’s fine. He’s an asshole like, all the time.”

“I’m not above throwing a snowball at you, Abby,” Sebastian retorted calmly.

“I _will_ destroy you.”

“She will,” Sam agreed solemnly.

From there, the three friends fell into their usual banter, with Elliott gradually easing into it with them. At some point, someone decided they were tired of standing and everyone else followed suit, but the cold of the wooden platform floor seeped through pants like they were nothing, so they all ended up cycling through sitting, standing, and squatting.

“So, hey,” Sebastian said when they were all about to start feeling ready to go home. “Are you writing a second book, or what?”

Elliott hadn’t spoken much up until then. “Eventually. Did you read my first one?”

“No.”

Elliott smiled. He seemed like the kind of person who appreciated honesty, even if it was blunt.

“But like, maybe I will. I will. Maybe. It’s cool that you like, created something. You made a whole book, you know? It didn’t exist before. That’s cool.”

Elliott’s smile widened. Abigail probably would’ve laughed at Sebastian’s sudden praise had she not agreed so strongly with the sentiment. Elliott brought an arm up to point at Sebastian, then gave his hand a couple shakes to emphasize the pointing.

“You…” he started. Another hand shake. “You get it. That’s what it’s about! Creating stuff that doesn’t exist yet!”

“You’re an inventor,” Sam said with the tone of someone who had just realized something big.

“You do the same, don’t you? With your band?”

Sam brought a hand to his chest. “ _I’m_ an inventor… I didn’t invent music though, it’s not the same.”

“I…” Elliott said at the same time that Abigail said “Sam” and Sebastian said “Dude.”

“I… I didn’t invent books.”

Sam looked slowly between the three of them, processing his second big realization. “Fuck, man.”

Elliott nodded sagely.

“Sam, you know I love you but you’re dumb as fuck sometimes.”

“Aw, Seb. I love you too.”

“I wish I could write a book,” Abigail said.

Elliott’s face lit up. “You could!”

Abigail laughed. “Yeah, right. The closest I could get to that is like, doing illustrations for a kid’s book. And even that’s not realistic.”

“Sure it is.”

“Okay, give me the step by step if it’s so simple.”

Elliott shifted his squat position to face her, sticking a finger up dramatically for each step as he listed them off. “Step one: befriend a writer between projects. Step two: show said writer your art. Step three: collaborate with the writer to make a children’s book. You’re already two-thirds done.”

Abigail stared at him, waiting for him to laugh. There was no way he could be serious.

Elliott didn’t laugh. “I think I know what I want to do for my next book.”

Sam’s “oh shit!” Felt distant in Abigail’s mind. She tried to imagine what Elliott was suggesting. Making a book together, and then what? Publishing it? _Selling_ it? It was absurd. Abigail brought her focus back to the present to get confirmation that he was joking, but found that Elliott had already begun to brainstorm.

“We need a moral. What kind of people do we want to the children of today growing into?”

“Good people,” Sam suggested.

Elliott clapped his hands and then pointed at Sam. “Good people! That’s right!”

“Vincent and Jas can be your… like, your test market,” Sebastian said.

“Holy shit,” Abigail interjected. “What is going on? What are you guys talking about?”

“Your new book,” Sam said.

“You said wanted to write a book,” Elliott reminded her.

“Yeah, but like, in a daydreamy way. Like a fantasy.”

“We can incorporate fantasy elements.”

“Vincent loves dragons,” Sam said.

“That’s not what I—Okay. Okay. You guys are crazy.”

“Abigail.” Elliott clasped his hands together. “I am inviting you to do the illustrations for the children’s book I’m writing. You will have a say in the story as well, of course.” Abigail felt suddenly like her head was going to fall off. “It’ll be fucking amazing, I promise.”

Hearing Elliott say fuck was completely jarring, and that was what ended up convincing her that he was serious. He wouldn’t resort to such foul language if he wasn’t serious.

“Shit,” she said after a pause. “Yeah, dude. I’m in.”

Sam cheered. Sebastian shot his arms straight up in triumph. Elliott positively beamed.

 

 

It took Abigail a few minutes after she woke up to remember what she had agreed to last night. She had to work backwards—she saw her window and remembered sneaking in through it so that the bell over the shop door wouldn’t wake her parents. She remembered descending the hill with Elliott because Sam was sleeping at Sebastian’s house. She remembered him telling her that he had been nervous before coming, that he was scared of being out of touch and making things awkward, but that he ended up having fun. She remembered not talking about the whole book thing at all after they left the train platform.

She pulled the covers up over her head and tried to fall back asleep.

Later, as she was shoveling cereal into her mouth, she tried to decide what she should do. The most attractive option was not saying anything and waiting for Elliott to come to her to confirm that even though he was high, he still thought that writing a kid’s book was a good idea. The less appealing option that she knew was a better course of action was to seek out the confirmation herself and risk being politely, tactfully rejected.

“I’m afraid I got a little ahead of myself last night,” he would say. “I don’t think I’m ready to start a new project yet, especially with someone like you.” She knew he wouldn’t say that last bit, but it would be implied.

Abigail got up from the table and washed her dishes. The water bounced off the curve of her spoon and splashed onto the front of her shirt and all over the counter. Examining her mess, Abigail decided that she would rather be rejected directly by someone who she wouldn’t blame for rejecting her than waiting indefinitely until the idea was forgotten by all parties. Seizing opportunities when they come, and all that.

Twenty minutes later, she was knocking on Elliott’s door.

She didn’t know if he was home because the sound of the ocean drowned out any signs of life that might have come through the walls. She tapped her foot nervously, stuck in place trying to decide whether she should knock again or look for him somewhere else. She had already poked her head in the library, but he hadn’t been there. This seemed like the second most likely place.

Finally, the door swung open. Elliott, with messy hair and a housecoat, frowned through his doorway until he recognized who was there. He blinked in surprise and Abigail realized that it was probably weird for her to show up unannounced like this.

“Hello,” he said, with the effort of someone trying to mask their confusion.

“Uh. Hey.” For a moment, Abigail was afraid that the whole conversation would be like this, with each of them on opposite sides of the door, but Elliott quickly stepped aside after blinking a few more times.

“Come in, come in,” he ushered. Abigail went in.

She had never seen the inside of his cabin before. There really was not much to see. A bed, a desk, and a piano that took up an unreasonable amount of space. He didn’t even have a fridge. Where did he keep the groceries she saw him buy at the store?

Elliott closed the door and cleared his throat. “I apologize for my appearance. I haven’t had a chance to, ah, put myself together yet.”

“That’s okay,” Abigail said quickly. She noticed that he very much was not wearing a shirt under the housecoat and she made a mental note to put a little more thought into the execution the next time she got a grand idea. “I just wanted to ask if you, uh… If you were serious? Last night?”

Elliott quirked an eyebrow. “Serious about what?”

Abigail’s stomach plummeted. It must have shown on her face as well, because Elliott didn’t give her a chance to answer.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry. I really am useless when I first wake up. Just, ah…” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and Abigail felt realization dawn upon her.

“Oh, shit. Did I wake you up?”

Elliott dropped his hands and opened his mouth, but hesitated before saying whatever he was going to say. Instead, he just laughed softly and nodded.

“Sorry. I didn’t really think before coming down here.”

“That’s alright.” He waved his hand. “I was going to get up soon anyway. Now remind me what I… may or may not have been serious about?”

“Uh, y—yeah. Last night, you were talking about writing a children’s book? Like, both of us. Together.”

Elliott perked up gradually, the way the kooky scientist in a movie sometimes does upon making an important discovery. His hands came together in front of his mouth.

“Of course. Yes, of course I remember.”

“So, uh, like, I totally get it if you think it’s dumb, or if you just don’t want to do it. But I wanted to ask in case, uh…”

“Do you want to do it?”

Abigail almost responded to Elliott’s question by asking the same question back at him, too self-conscious to be the first to answer it, but she told herself that she wasn’t going to be a coward after walking down here. Plus, the look on Elliott’s face was making her feel hopeful.

“Yeah,” she said with as much confidence as she could find.

A wide grin broke across Elliott’s unshaven face. Abigail felt herself mirroring it.

“We’d better get started, then.”

“Really? Like, for real? Really?”

“Absolutely.” Elliott’s smile faltered only when he glanced down at himself. “Let me just get dressed first.”

“R—Right, yeah.”

Abigail averted her eyes politely as Elliott gathered some clothes from a small pile of them on the floor next to his bed. He said something about being sorry for the mess, and Abigail responded with something about how it was fine. He brought them into the small bathroom on the other side of the cabin and told Abigail to make herself comfortable before closing the door. She didn’t know exactly what making herself comfortable entailed, so she sat on the piano bench and put her bag on the floor, trailing her fingers lightly along the tops of the keys. There was a piece of sheet music set up on the stand, but she didn’t recognize it.

Elliott emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later looking much more like his usual self. Abigail swiveled around on the bench, unsure of what to say.

“So, uh, how are we gonna do this?” she asked.

“That’s a good question. All we have so far is a target demographic.”

“I brought my sketchbook, actually. You could look through it, see if anything gives you any ideas.”

Elliott smiled as he sat in the chair at his desk, crossing one leg over the other. “Do _you_ have any ideas?”

Abigail paused halfway through pulling her sketchbook out of her bag. “I, uh… Well. Have you ever been in the mines?”

“Oh, no! I would quite literally be eaten alive in there.”

“Yeah, same,” Abigail laughed. “The farmer has told me about some of the monsters in there though, and I thought that might be a cool starting point for character design.”

Elliott nodded, his chin held securely between his thumb and forefinger. “Go on,” he encouraged.

Abigail flipped through her sketchbook to find one of her favourite monsters—one the farmer had called a shadow brute.

They spent the next while looking at some of Abigail’s sketches, bouncing ideas off each other, and constructing the skeleton of a book. It was unlike anything Abigail had ever experienced before. Elliott was not only open to her ideas, but was supporting them with enthusiasm. He added his input without shutting her down. She eventually stopped feeling any hesitation at all and just started saying things without any kind of filter, not worried about judgement or resistance. He would make a great teacher, she thought.

They inevitably started to lose steam when Elliott’s stomach insisted on being heard.

“Oh, man. I forgot you didn’t get a chance to have breakfast. That’s… definitely my fault.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said as he rifled through the pages of notes he had frantically scrawled. Some things were crossed out and others were underlined thrice and circled. “I’m glad you came by.”

Abigail checked the time. She had been there for two and a half hours.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “I should go, I told my dad I’d help clean up the store today.”

“Oh, yes, don’t let me keep you.”

Abigail got up, put her book back in her bag and started towards the cabin door. Elliott got up to open it for her, but she stopped in her tracks before she got there.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s kind of personal.”

“That’s alright.” He said that, but the slight shift in his tone didn’t go unnoticed.

“What did your parents say when you told them you wanted to be a writer?”

Elliott looked at her seriously before crossing his arms and making what Abigail could now recognize as his thinking face.

“My parents… tried to be supportive, I suppose. Though it was always very obvious that they were expecting me to fail or give up at any moment. They liked to talk to me about back-up plans or their friends’ companies that had openings, without ever explicitly saying that they weren’t happy with my choices.” He paused, and Abigail wasn’t sure if he was going to continue, so she just waited. After a moment, he did. “They praised my talent and accomplishments until I decided to pursue them as a career. On one hand, I understand that it came from a place of concern for my wellbeing and financial stability, but on the other hand… Well, I think that kind of pessimism is bit appalling, don’t you?”

“Do you still talk to them?”

“Not very often. I called them when I finished my novel and they asked when I was coming home. As if achieving one goal meant I was ready to change my lifestyle. I mean,” he gestured around his cabin, “I’m aware this isn’t exactly what dreams are made of, but… I think I’m happy here. I’m not quite ready to move on.”

Abigail didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t really expected him so say so much. Elliott seemed a little surprised by his own openness, too, pursing his lips and looking at some interesting spot on the floor.

“I suspect,” he continued slowly. “That you have your own reasons for asking me that?”

“…Yeah. My parents… I mean, I know they mean well, and they really do a lot for me, but…” Abigail thought for a moment how absurd it was to be talking about this with Elliott of all people, but only for a moment. “I shouldn’t have to put on a fake personality for them to respect me, right?”

“No, of course not.”

“Sorry, I know you’re not like, a therapist.” Elliott laughed at that.

“I don’t have any formal training, no. But you’re welcome to come by any time if you want to talk.”

“Really?”

“Yes, if you’d like to.”

“Yeah… okay. I mean, I’ll see you anyway to keep working on this book thing, right?”

“Right.”

“Cool. Okay. Good. I’ll, um. I’ll get going, then.”

Elliott smiled and completed his task of getting the door for her. Abigail stepped outside and hesitated one last time before heading home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

After negotiating a time to meet that wouldn’t involve a fresh-out-of-bed Elliott, the two said goodbye and Abigail started on her way home. Her head was buzzing with an unfamiliar energy. She was terrified, but it was a kind of terror that came hand-in-hand with an incredible amount of excitement. She was proud of herself, of her creative ability. She didn’t even think about how her parents would react to her new project—she was too busy thinking about character names and colour schemes.

For the first time, she felt like she could prove that her artistic pursuits had real value, that maybe they had all along. Even if they made a book that didn’t sell a single copy, that didn’t even get published, she didn’t think that that would even bother her. She had a new thing to look forward to, a new sense of motivation, a new goal, and a new friend. That was enough for her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated :)


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